PTB's Writing Challenge 2013
by Shotgunkiss
Summary: PTB's Writing Challenge 2013. It will be 52 collective oneshots featuring characters from the Harry Potter and Twilight series.
1. A Small Ray of Hope

**Challenge Number/Title: **# 01 – A Small Ray of Hope  
**Date Posted: **Jan. 12, 2013

**Fandom:** Harry Potter  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Genre: **Canon  
**Content Descriptors:** Friendship  
**Characters: **Lily and Sirius

**Disclaimer:** I, obviously, am not J.K Rowling and I will never be here. So, I don't own Sirus and Lily.

* * *

"You shouldn't be out here alone, Lily," he advises, before sitting down next to me. We don't say anything for a brief moment. He turns his head. "Why are you here? You should be sleeping right now." I don't answer him. He sighs. "Are you going to tell me why you're miles away from Potter Manor and sitting on this cliff by yourself at night?"

I look at him, carefully studying his piercing grey eyes. Sirius, James' best friend and brother in almost every way except blood. He has become a very good friend since the last year of Hogwarts, more so when I began dating James. A shiver runs through my body and I hug both of my knees. "I was just thinking."

He doesn't say anything, but I know he's waiting for an explanation.

"I'm scared," I softly whisper. It surprises me as I didn't plan on telling him what was bothering me. The breeze rushes toward us. It envelops us in cold before fleeing towards the unknown. The sky is still ebony, with sparkling stars and a hidden moon to guide the lost. The horizon of the ocean is barely visible. Its waves go back and forth. It crashes onto the sharp rocks below before returning to where it belongs.

And I wait. I wait for the dawn to come and shine its orange, purple, and yellow hues on me. I wait for Sirius to say something, anything. I wait for the unknown future.

I'm unable to look forward to another year in Hogwarts. There is no point, as I've graduated. Lily Evans, Head Girl and Muggleborn witch, is a full-fledge adult—an adult who is frightened about next month, her second mission from the Order. But a war has begun. It is the kind of war that requires blood to be shed and deaths of loved ones. It is the kind of war that I hate more than anything, but cannot escape participation because it is my war too. I'm fighting for my life, my family's life and for those who can't fight any longer.

"It'll be all right." He tries to convince me. There is conviction in his voice laced with a hint of fear and uncertainty. He understands. Sirius' life practically circles on his friends—James, Remus, Peter, the Order, and me. He understands that at any moment we can all die. Voldemort is picking off Order members one by one as well as innocent bystanders, the Muggles who are not aware and neutral witches and wizards.

"I know I'm not perfect, that I'll probably make mistakes. But-" I choke. A small sob is threatening to escape from my lips. Sirius understands. He puts my head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around me. And even though he isn't James, I feel protected and loved. "I'm just so scared of not making a difference. I'm scared of having to see my friends die until there's no one left." I sniff. "We need to win this war, Sirius. People are dying left and right, for Merlin's sake. Children who are so pure…and I don't—"

He kisses my forehead, finally comprehending what brought this on tonight.

It happened a week ago. The Marauders and I, along with a few Order members such as Marlene McKinnon, the Prewett twins, and Dorcas Meadowes, were in Hogsmeade. We had caught four Death Eaters about three days prior, so celebration was in order. It had also been my first mission, along with the Marauders. We were thrilled and adrenaline was still in our systems. Our first mission had gone accordingly.

But not long after we entered Madam Rosmerta's pub, Benjy Fenwick, a fellow Order member, burst in. He was speaking in a low, rushed voice. There was an attack on Diagon Alley, about fifteen Death Eaters wreaking havoc. We grabbed our cloaks and immediately apparated.

The scene I saw was grotesque. Women were screaming and men were fighting. There were two children, younger than nine, being tortured right in front of their unconscious mum. I rushed towards them, dodging and returning spells while I ran. Sending them a protective charm, a battle ensued between me and the torturer. It was dark. It was chaotic.

My mind whirled. Were James and the others all right? How many have died tonight? How many will be seeing this scene replay as they try to sleep?

I tried to send offensive spells to the followers of Voldemort and defensive spells to those fighting against them. My eyes darted from each member of the Order, fighting their own small battles. The Death Eaters continued to attack us, destroying buildings and having more blood ib their hands. It was cruel. And I was determined to stop them somehow. So I fought.

We could've battled for only hours, feeling like it was days. Some disappeared; traveling the way a follower does leaving only shadows of their selves before vanishing. There were a couple stunned and will go to Azkaban. Serves them right.

Having only minor injuries, I stayed behind to help. Ministry officials had finally appeared and began to tally the people who died and were injured. Looking for a person by the name of Delilah, according to her sister, Dianne, what I found instead shattered my heart.

Her eyes were wide open, terrified of the horror. The platinum blonde hair, so similar to her sister, was fanned out, singed and dirty. She was on her side in a fetal position, while her arms, her right hand holding a light brown wand, were covering her abdomen. But she failed to try to protect herself. And her unborn. The lavender and pink floral dress emphasized her enormous stomach.

A mother and child. A baby who couldn't be born. He or she wasn't able to see and experience life. A mother who couldn't see or hold her child. She wasn't able to hear her baby's first laugh or first word. They were taken too soon. They didn't have enough time to truly live.

I broke down seeing their lifeless and mangled body.

"In a war, people are bound to die. That's just how it is, Flower."

I know. But what is the point of a war when it only brings suffering and pain? This pointless, raging war is only because of Voldemort. To him, people are nothing but pawns in his game for power and domination. He is merciless. For that, I will never be able to forgive him.

Light is beginning to crawl its way to the darkness now. A new day has come. And maybe, it will bring a small ray of hope—a hope to end this war once and for all.

* * *

**Authoress' Note:** Thank you very much to the PTB betas, Amy & Megan, for correcting all of my mistakes. Also, fyi, Potter Manor is not Lily & James' house in Godric Hollow. Can't wait for the second prompt!


	2. The Empty Shot-glass

**Challenge Number/Title: **02 – The Empty Shot-glass  
**Date Posted:** 2/8/12

**Fandom: **Twilight  
**Rating:** T  
**Genre:** AH  
**Content Descriptors: **Slight angst  
**Characters: **Rosalie and Emmett

**Disclaimer**: Not Stephanie Meyer, just saying.

* * *

Choices will always be made. But there's a point in life when a person can't be certain if their decision is the correct one. Because, let's face it, it can be a good or bad one. Rosalie McCarty would like to think her life choices have always been good and well-intentioned. However, she's been lying to herself. At least half of the decisions she's made have led to a horrid outcome. That's why she knows the exact reason why she needs to pack her things from her beloved house and move far away from here.

In fact, the reason for the divorce is always in her mind. It consumes her—mentally and physically. No matter how much she wishes her thoughts won't stray into that particular area, they still do. The aching memories replay in her mind like a nightmare. Until she finishes packing, the tormenting dream will remain.

Little by little, the belongings, that show Rosalie's ownership and love of the house, disappear inside the brown boxes. Soon, all that's left will be her husband's things. And maybe someday, the space she used to occupy will be filled with someone else's posessions. It might be Emmett's girlfriend or his second wife—

Rosalie shakes her head. Just thinking about Emmett being with another woman, tears her heart into pieces because she still cares for him. Their marriage might not have worked out, but she can't erase the five years they spent together. He had been her best friend before a relationship blossomed between them. That's what hurts the most.

"Tell me again why you can't call the movers to help you? We are living in the twenty-first century, you know."

Rosalie stares at her best friend of three years. "Because, Alice, like it or not, I want to do this myself. Even though it pains me to clear my things out of this house…I-I have to do it." She wants Alice to understand.

The woman Rosalie is talking to now had been the one at the end of the phone, patiently listening to Rosalie's dilemma after _it _happened. She had calmed the hysteric blonde and comforted her the best she could. Two weeks after the separation, Alice had even helped her look for an apartment and took care of her work matters. Rosalie had been a mess, and Alice had been her savior.

"You need to do this to get that feeling—the feeling that this is really happening, right?" Rosalie nods. It's getting hard to breathe and something is stuck in her throat. Still, she continues placing her books in the box.

As Rosalie closes the front door, she stares up at the house she has called home for three years. Her mind tries to memorize it up to the most meticulous details, such as the yellow splatter on the side of the house that had come to be because Emmett had tickled her out of the blue when the two had been painting it. This house is the first thing he had bought for her after their marriage began. She had wanted to fight to continue living in it, but eventually the realization dawned on her.

Her memories of them together would overcome her. She would hopelessly wish for the past, when they were still happy. Rosalie knows there is no way she could do that to herself. _Keep moving forward_, she chants in her head daily. It's the only way she gets up in the morning and how she has been able to pack her things. What once represented their togetherness is now his alone.

[x]-[x]-[x]

Alice drives Rosalie's vehicle to her new place. It's an apartment with only one bedroom and it overlooks the skyline. The place is great, but in her heart the house Emmett provided is her only home. That's why her best friend is driving—she just doesn't have enough strength to drive away from the place she loves.

Regret. There are so many things Rosalie regrets about their relationship. She could've handled the fights better, she should've paid attention to him more, and maybe she should've tried harder to properly communicate with him. Yes, she understands that a relationship is a two-way street. It just hurts her a lot more now, knowing there could've been ways to salvage their marriage.

Immediately, her mind takes her to the memory that set the ball in motion.

It was Emmett's birthday. They were supposed to spend it by themselves, but instead they hosted an elegant party. Their house was filled with people he worked with in the firm—which just meant people she had never met before. In those days, Emmett's mind was filled with expanding his connections. He said it was good for his name to be known and to know people with power.

Frankly, Rosalie was getting tired of having to always entertain people and be the marionette wife to him. Being an overly-cheerful hostess was just something she doesn't do, or play well. If anything, she feels more like a waitress. But that particular night had been more tiring than before. She supposes now that the snickering ladies, who wanted their claws on her husband's body, made the night more awful. They were always judging her, noting every mistake.

A no-name writer is married to _the_ Emmett McCarty? My goodness, she really did get lucky, no? Cue their cackles. Oh, how much Rosalie wanted to slap their faces and perhaps give them a taste of their own medicine. But she knew she couldn't. Emmett's reputation couldn't be tarnished because of her. So, she had no choice but to let them continue.

At the end of the night, the couple was worn out and tired. It isn't clear to Rosalie how it all began, but complaints arose from the both of them. Really, she sees now that they should've gone straight to bed. But they didn't, and they fought. Things were thrown and spiteful comments were said.

_Why couldn't Rosalie just be happy for him?_

_She is! She even celebrated his birthday, which was supposed to be private and intimate, with his colleagues. An unnecessary party was thrown for him because that's what he wanted. _

_Unnecessary? The party was thrown to celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday and to let his name be known to the people higher up in his career. It meant killing two birds with one stone. _

_Unlike what he thinks, there are more important things in life than networking. Oh, that's right, he never thinks when it comes to other people. _

_Now, she's just being ridiculous. Why can't she just admit that she just doesn't want to host any party? That she's bitter about not being promoted as much as him to a level as high as him. Things have finally changed for the better. _

_ For the better? That's a laugh! Why can't he just say that all he wants in life now is to have connections? After all, that's what's important to him now! _

_ She's just mad because for once he didn't follow what she wanted to do. And can you blame him? She never wants to do what he wants and what will be good for his career in the long run. So what if he did what he wanted? He fucking deserves it. _

_ He doesn't even care that he practically turned her in a maid tonight, does he? It takes at least a week to prepare for a party like this, but did he at least give her the courtesy of a heads up? No! He told her two days before and expected things to be great. She's not a fucking maid!_

That night, they slept with anger in their hearts, recovering from the aftermath of their first big fight. The anger lingered until fighting became more frequent. It grew into a gigantic monster of hate which resulted into the both of them sleeping separately, before Emmett finally moved out without a single phone call or email. A few months later, the divorce papers were in the mail. All it needed was two signatures from Rosalie.

Now she sits on her worn-out couch, downing a scotch in the dark. After her third glass, she opted for the bottle. It's easier than continuously pouring herself a glass; after all, tonight there isn't any limit. She stares at the half-empty, half-full glass on her wooden coffee-table as the bitter scotch destroys her liver.

The bitterness lingers in her mouth, just like the one lurking in her heart. She hates that it's there, but nothing can be done to remove it. Their marriage can't be fixed and the friendship before that can't be salvaged. It's too damaged and it's too late.

"The optimist and the pessimist," she mutters. Her vision is becoming hazy and her cerulean eyes are beginning to droop. She gulps a mouthful of the poisonous drink and loves the way it burns her throat.

The glass on the table is similar to Rosalie and Emmett's love for one another. At the beginning, their feelings had been filled with love—it almost poured out of the shot glass as it had been brimmed to the top. But slowly, their love for each other diminished as time changed them. They began to see a whole new and different side of the other, and they didn't like that side. This continued until their feelings for one another are only half of what it was. They stopped before they destroyed each other. They felt no need to try any longer.

And it sits there now, half-full and half-empty. It'll remain untouched by the both of them. They'll hide it in the depths of their hearts and then eventually move on, walking on different paths. It'll one day be forgotten. That's the fate of their relationship, of the divorce.

But Rosalie drinks it. It's an empty glass now. Now there won't be any wondering over a second chance. She is closing that story. And though a huge chunk of her life will be gone, she has gained a lesson from it. And maybe, when she's ready, her new relationship won't share the same ending.

For now, she will dwell in her mixed emotions of regret, loneliness, and sadness until the sun shines on her and she's ready to being her life again. Tomorrow is a new day, after all.

What will it hold for her?

* * *

**Authoress' Note:** Thank you very much to my good friend, Teresa, for helping me with this. If it wasn't for her, this chapter would still be filled with errors.


	3. Prompt 03

**Challenge Number/Title:** 03  
**Date Posted:** 2/8/13

**Fandom: **Harry Potter  
**Rating:** T  
**Genre:** Canon  
**Content Descriptors:** Friendship  
**Characters:** Ginny

Disclaimer: I, obviously, am not J.K Rowling and I will never be here.

* * *

Cabbage.

The blasted vegetable has awakened Ginny Potter from her wonderful slumber. Her stomach growls as she continues to think about it. Without much choice, she leaves her comfortable bed and heads downstairs. She struggles to descend the few steps as her huge belly blocks her view of her feet, and leans into the railing for support. Being pregnant for the first time has made her realize how much her own mother has suffered. This unborn baby is going to be Ginny's first child, and she already thinks it's horrid. Giving birth to seven children must be the worst nightmare a woman can live through. She makes a mental note to send her mum a letter, thanking her for not giving up on having a daughter.

Finally, in what feels like months, the kitchen comes into view. Ginny notices the day is bleak, and for once, she approves. The only problem is that the afternoon is very chilly, and she is craving cabbage. It's a certain vegetable they apparently don't have. How, in the bloody hell, could they not have cabbage but have carrots?

She has only just woken up and already her day is awful. Why must Merlin punish her?

"Ginny?"

"In here."

There's the clicking of heels, a bag being placed down, and a pause. "What are you doing?"

Ginny doesn't need to turn. It would also be very difficult for her to do so. She continues to stare in front of her, despearately wanting the leafy vegetable. By doing so, she hopes it will magically appear inside the white refrigerator—a muggle appliance her husband insisted on having. "Looking for something."

"It's not going to appear out of thin air, even if you stare intensely at it for a few minutes, Gin. Leave it alone, and come here. I brought you lunch."

Ginny is very stubborn, a trait she inherited from her mother, but perhaps this time she has to give up. It's a lost cause because her refrigerator really doesn't have the one thing she's craving for. So, she turns to see her friend sitting on a stool, holding a container. Her friend is not at all comparable to a blubber whale like Ginny. Curse her for being so model-esque. But Ginny sits beside her, grumpy and all.

"What are you craving this time?" Hermione's all-knowing eyes have begun to annoy her. Why must she be so nosy? Still, she mutters the answer.

"Cabbage? Is that all?" Hermione asks.

"Yes, Hermione, just that, I don't want anything else." Ginny pauses. "Well, maybe bits and pieces of a salmon, that very spicy sauce you used, jam and butter with it." Just thinking about it makes her mouth water. She wants a bloody cabbage, and it's all Harry's fault for not stocking their pantry. He may be the Chosen One, but he's lousy at filling their refrigerator.

"Let Harry know when he comes back. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to make you that. In the meantime, eat this. You must be very hungry." Hermione opens the container, revealing roast beef with Yorkshire pudding.

Just looking at it, Ginny knows she doesn't want to eat it. Her stomach is demanding cabbage along with her other favorites. She furrows her brow. But, she nibbles on it as being rude contradicts everything her mum ever told her. Hermione begins to tell her how her morning went, and Ginny nods at the appropriate times.

Really, the good thing about leaving Quidditch is that Ginny can sleep in for as long as she desires. Yes, she does miss being one of the chasers for the Holyhead Harpies, but she feels that documenting her and Harry's love by creating a child is the summit of her life plans. Besides, she's positive there will always be another job she can take where she will be as happy.

"And you won't believe what Ron said last night," Hermione complains. "Remember when I told you that Ron and I are discussing of having a baby? Well, Ron brought up the subject of what to name our child or children." Ginny nods, having finished eating her lunch. It didn't satisfy her mentally, but the growls lessened. "Well, he wanted to name our future boy King."

Ginny blinks twice. She wonders if she's heard Hermione right. "King? Why?"

"Because of Malfoy. In my fifth year, he came up with that silly song to annoy Ron: Weasley is Our King. Well, we won the Quidditch match thanks to him and he thinks it's fitting for our first son to be called King to commemorate that day." Hermione takes a bite out of her lunch, frowning at her husband's idea.

Ginny roars in laughter as she shakes her head. Only Ron would think like that. Poor Hermione. Thank Merlin, Harry isn't horrible at naming his future child. He honors the people he loves and treasures by wanting to name their little boy James Sirius. It's a fantastic name too, and definitely better than 'King'.

"I told him there's no way we're naming our child that. If anything, his name will be 'Hugo' or 'Daniel'. He told me that George and Bill thought its a 'ruddy good name for a boy'." The two women laugh. It didn't surprise Ginny that her older brothers like the name.

After they finished their conversation, Hermione returns to the Ministry of Magic. Ginny is saddened that she's alone once again. Really, it's all Harry's fault—first with the cabbage thing and now with leaving her alone. It's been months since she's gone outside without someone with her. She yearns to apparate to the Burrow's backyard or Diagon Alley, just anywhere. But, she doesn't. It's dangerous for the baby, and nothing is worth risking her child.

Not wanting to appear completely hopeless, Ginny decides to do a few chores just to occupy her mind. She waters the garden Harry insisted her to grow, dusts the bookshelf in the living room, and admires the small, protective statue of a phoenix she had acquired when the Weasley family visited Egypt. She refrains from using her wand, and opts for handling it the way muggles do. There's just something so satisfying about accomplishing things with your own two hands, rather than using spells.

After completing her tasks, she decides to rest out on the porch. The sun shines on her face, enveloping her in an almost golden-halo, and soothes her. Her unborn child kicks and she rubs her stomach. She's content with resting and being at home. But the excitement of a giggling child with Harry's messy mop of hair and her eyes warms her heart.

For now, she waits patiently for her husband's arrival. He will surely kiss her on the forehead and then her belly before bringing her inside the house.


	4. A Rainbow Flag

**Challenge Number/Title:** 04 - A Rainbow Flag  
**Date Posted:** 2/712

**Fandom: **Twilight  
**Rating: **T  
**Genre: **AU  
**Content Descriptors:** Slight drama, slight comedy  
**Character Pairing: **Emmett and Esme

**Disclaimer:** I, obviously, am not Stephanie Meyer.

* * *

I miss those times when all you had to do be forgive by someone was to overplay your cuteness and apologize. There was no getting spanked, or even being yelled at, just good old-fashioned scolding because I was just a little boy who didn't know any better. I wish I could rewind back to that time.

Because I've royally fucked things up.

And no, I'm not talking about the "I-accidentally-broke-your-very-expensive-vase" type of fucked up. God, if only that's what really happened. I'd actually be a little relieved if I had because compared to what I did, that's nothing. What I did is more like "Mom-I'm-sorry-I-hid-from-you-that-I-have-a-girlfriend-and-married-my-girlfriend-via-Vegas-and-didn't-even-invite-you" type. However that isn't what I really did, although, I did hide a secret from her.

And the secret was that I preferred a man's genitalia over a woman's pussy.

Shit. I can't even say _the word _inside my own head. What the hell is wrong with me!?

"Nothing," he says beside me. I hadn't realized that I'd spoken my thoughts out loud. He looks at me, pity and sympathy clear in his features. If I didn't love him, I'd probably punch him in the jaw which would make his nose even more crooked. "Just take a deep breath. Be honest with her. And be sure to say it gently. You can do this, Emmett."

He's right. I can fucking do this.

My parent's house comes into view. No way. I don't have enough guts to break my mother's heart. For fuck's sake, I'm an only child! I'm pretty sure she's counting on me to continue the family tree. I guess there's always the option to impregnate a woman and have her carry my child, but not be my wife.

I've officially lost it.

He pushes me out of his car, and I wave goodbye to him. He drives off as soon as I set foot on the worn out porch. Why didn't I make him come with me?

Oh right, that wouldn't exactly soften the blow. It would probably give my parents both a heart attack, and that's the one of the things I definitely don't want to happen.

All right, Emmett, you can do this. You have a penis which means that you're a manly man. Sure, it's not exactly manly to want to give another guy a blowjob, but…

I even suck at giving myself pep-talks. Speaking of sucking… No! Focus. This is not the time or place to think of the mind-blowing sex you had last night, Emmett. Instead, imagine the impending doom you're about to experience. The door opens mid-way to lecturing myself.

"Hey, Mom!"

"Em, you're early!" My mom steps out of the house to hug me very tightly. She kisses both of my cheeks, gives me a brief one-over, before ushering me into my childhood home.

Needless to say, it still looks the same—well, except everything seems to be a lot smaller than I remembered. I blame it on my growth spurt which is thanks to the genes my dad gave me. Even the furniture with the blue against the dirty white is still there. Being creative is definitely my forte, and I had known since that the second I took up finger painting when I was little.

There are more pictures than before, that's for sure. I think the whole living room is a three-dimensional album. Oh look, there's me with my high school prom date, Bella. I do look ruggedly handsome in my graduation photo—four years of my life I'll never get back. Naturally, my mom would display the nude photos of baby Emmett. I have got to tell her to take those down.

She settles down next to me, letting my dad take control of the kitchen. Mom has never been the type to prepare and cook food for people, or herself. And then the endless stream of questions begins. I try to answer them as best as I can, giving out truths and half-lies here and there.

When is the right time to tell your mom that you're gay and proud of it?

Seriously, people who have accomplished that should write a step-by-step guide. It would certainly make some men leave their closet behind them for good. And maybe if they did, their family and friends would support them or at least understand better than if they hadn't. It's decided then. I'll write that kind of book if I somehow manage to survive through this.

My hands are very sweaty. Yet, my mom doesn't notice this, even though she squeezes them to make me focus. I've really got to pay attention to what she's saying. Wait—did I hear her right? She wants to introduce me to someone great?

Oh fuck me.

Not this again. How many more dates do I have to endure before my mom knows the truth? Sure, the women she sets me up with have great personalities, but they don't have the one thing I actually want in a partner. I quickly deny my mom's request, making up a flimsy excuse of how busy I am. The disappointment can be seen plainly on her face despite her awful attempt at smiling.

I must say Dad has great timing, and the smell of his extremely praise-worthy roast beef is in the air. My mouth is watering. We move into the kitchen and our conversations flow. By that, I mean a shitload of questions about my college life, work, friends, and all the stuff parents usually interrogate you with. I gobble down a portion of food in a matter of minutes, relishing its' great taste. With the amount of food they feed used to me daily—when I was still living under their roof, and not in a dorm like I live in now—I'm quite surprised I'm not obese, but Dad does make the best roast beef and mashed potatoes.

"So son, what happened to that Rosalie woman you had as a partner for that project you did or something?"

Quickly, I swallow the mashed potato I was eating. It really is the best food I've ever eaten. To be honest, I don't understand why I ever left home to have junk food in exchange for the divine dishes my dad cooks. "She's great. We're actually working with two other people for our thesis. She's a great friend, and actually sends her regards." Yes, Dad, friend. Only a friend…well, more like a best friend.

My mom beams. "That's great. Tell her she has to visit for Thanksgiving, and I won't take no for an answer. The same goes for you. Although, I do hope you bring your girlfriend next time." She knows very well I've never mentioned having one.

Oh other gay guys who've graduated from fully coming out of the closet, is this a sign? Is this supposed to be the rainbow after a rainy day?

They're both looking at me, happiness radiating off the both of them. It has been a while since the three of us have been together as a family, and I make a mental note to change that. My parents have been wonderful, the kind children wish they had. Can I really break their hearts? A few of my friends are part of a family that's broken. I don't want my own family to be that way.

I put my fork down and stare at them meaningfully. "I…I have something to say."

My dad encourages me with a small nod. A part of me has always known that perhaps he understands me in more ways than one, and I now have that confirmation. So, I face my mom. She doesn't have a clue judging by her puzzled eyes. She sends a quick glance to her husband before looking at me and holding my hand.

I pray to whoever is watching this to give me strength and make me say the right words to convey my meaning. Because I don't have a fucking clue what I'm going to say. Brain, don't leave me on my own now!

Breathing deeply, I say, "Mom, I-I don't know how to say this, but…" I pause. She encourages me with a tiny squeeze of her hand. I lick my lips. "Mom, I'm so so…incredibly sorry." I say this because I am. Out of both of my parents, it's her that badly wants a grandson or daughter—a mini half-version of me, she would always say. Sadly, I will never be able to give her that.

"What do you mean, honey?"

"I'm not—" A lump forms in my throat and my vision is blurry. "I'm sorry, I can't…" I pull away from her.

Please don't reject me. Please don't hate me. I'm sorry. And I'm back to being a little kid frightened of being abandoned.

"Go on, son. Say what's on your mind."

"Emmett?"

I grab both of her hands, holding them tightly in mine. It might be the last time. "I'm gay."

There, I said it. Two words that have the potential to ruin my family.

My dad and I carefully watch her reaction. Unsurprisingly, she looks stunned, but no words left her. And my heart breaks a little at this.

"I'm so sorry, Mom. I tried to tell you before, when I finally realized why I'm not interested, but then with school and your work, it just didn't seem to be the right time. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. Mom?"

"How long have you…uhm…known this?"

It isn't a questioned I expected her to ask. Actually, I thought by now she would leave the room or yell at me. "Uh, since last year." I waited for her to say something, anything. "I have a boyfriend, Mom. He's a great guy. We met when I went to a club near my campus and…"

Emmett, shut the fuck up! This isn't how I imagined I would introduce my boyfriend. I wanted to wait until she got used to the idea of having a gay son who loves fashion just as much as her. Stupid, fucked up brain!

"What's his name, son?" Bless my dad for trying to make things better. So, I answer his question, but still continue to eye her. Finally, she reaches for my hand. Shit. Maybe she'll say she can't accept me and is going to disown me.

"This isn't right, Emmett."

And there goes the pieces of my already shattered heart. I knew it. I try vainly to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over like a river dam. My own mom can't accept who I am. This is the end of my family. I know there's some sort of saying out there that gay people are extremely positive and cheerful, but my feelings are anything but that. In fact, I'd say it's more close to sadness and despair. Shit!

"You should've told me then."

I squeeze her hand, sorrow probably evident in my eyes. "I know, Mom. I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you and dad, but I didn't know how to say it and when to say it until now."

I expect her to leave and never come back, or to be forced to give her a small amount of time to process the information which will then take a year without any communication between us to pass before she will willingly see me next again. I definitely wasn't expecting that slipped out of her mouth next.

"Is he cute?"

Dad chuckles. "Emmett has good taste. He always has."

"Well, is he?"

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I…at least I think so."

"When can we meet him?"

And she smiles. The happiness is still there, and on both of their faces too. I think I might've just died of the pure bliss. I'm pretty sure rainbows are spewing out of my entire body.

God, how I love my mom.

My dad too, of course.

* * *

**Authoress' Note:** Thanks again to Teresa for everything!


End file.
